During the last eight days Savinien had made many reflections on the present conditions of life.  Competition in everything necessitated hard work on the part of whoever sought a fortune.  Illegal methods and underhand dealing demanded more talent than open efforts in face of day.  Success in society, far from giving a man position, wasted his time and required an immense deal of money.  The name of Portenduere, which his mother considered all-powerful, had no power at all in Paris.  His cousin the deputy, Comte de Portenduere, cut a very poor figure in the Elective Chamber in presence of the peerage and the court; and had none too much credit personally.  Admiral Kergarouet existed only as the husband of his wife.  Savinien admitted to himself that he had seen orators, men from the middle classes, or lesser noblemen, become influential personages.  Money was the pivot, the sole means, the only mechanism of a society which Louis XVIII. had tried to create in the likeness of that of England.

On his way from the Rue de la Clef to the Rue Croix des Petits-Champs the young gentleman divulged the upshot of these meditations (which were certainly in keeping with de Marsay’s advice) to the old doctor.

“I ought,” he said, “to go into oblivion for three or four years and seek a career.  Perhaps I could make myself a name by writing a book on statesmanship or morals, or a treatise on some of the great questions of the day.  While I am looking out for a marriage with some young lady who could make me eligible to the Chamber, I will work hard in silence and in obscurity.”

Studying the young fellow’s face with a keen eye, the doctor saw the serious purpose of a wounded man who was anxious to vindicate himself.  He therefore cordially approved of the scheme.

“My friend,” he said, “if you strip off the skin of the old nobility (which is no longer worn these days) I will undertake, after you have lived for three or four years in a steady and industrious manner, to find you a superior young girl, beautiful, amiable, pious, and possessing from seven to eight hundred thousand francs, who will make you happy and of whom you will have every reason to be proud,—­one whose only nobility is that of the heart!”

“Ah, doctor!” cried the young man, “there is no longer a nobility in these days,—­nothing but an aristocracy.”

“Go and pay your debts of honor and come back here.  I shall engage the coupe of the diligence, for my niece is with me,” said the old man.

That evening, at six o’clock, the three travelers started from the Rue Dauphine.  Ursula had put on a veil and did not say a word.  Savinien, who once, in a moment of superficial gallantry, had sent her that kiss which invaded and conquered her soul like a love-poem, had completely forgotten the young girl in the hell of his Parisian debts; moreover, his hopeless love for Emilie de Kergarouet hindered him from bestowing a thought on a few glances exchanged with a little country girl.  He did not recognize her when the doctor handed her into the coach and then sat down beside her to separate her from the young viscount.